


dark star alloy

by procrastinatingbookworm



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Five Stages of Grief, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, intentionally vague character descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 23:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: "I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you. I hate you!""No. You really don't.""I hate myself.""Well, I love you."The Master's daughter dies. The Doctor does as his name suggests: he helps him heal.





	dark star alloy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yonderdarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the kübler-ross model](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286977) by [yonderdarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling). 



**BARGAINING**

 

He's taken to sleeping in the control room, in the time between companions. He pushes the name (names, faces, smiles) out of his head and curls up underneath the console, pressing his head against the metal and letting the TARDIS (he still has her, despite it all) rock him to sleep.

It's not the pounding that wakes him, a beat of four, fists slamming on the wood, he's slept through worse. It's the push against the edge of his mind, the pleading voice, (the Gallifreyan words are saltwater: stinging until they soothe) the drumbeat. He's not speaking aloud, not even intentionally projecting, but the Master's mind is torn open and he's screaming, and that's what wakes the Doctor.

He opens the door and the Master is on him, clutching at his shirt with trembling hands, eyes wide and red and manic, and he's begging.

"Bring her back, do something, save her, gods, gods! please save her, I tried, I tried, please save her..." and he says her name, her real name, the name he gave her (the Doctor was with them, he was the third to hold his best friend's daughter, he had been there to hear the name whispered against her tiny wet skull, the name her father must have screamed when she died)

He grabs fistfuls of fabric and drags the Master inside, pulls him to the ground and holds him, rocks him, lets him plead and scream and beat his fists (onetwothreefour) against the Doctor's chest, just keeps his arms around him as his voice cracks into a whisper.

Neither of them cry. That will come later. They just sit on the floor of the TARDIS and whisper her name back and forth until it becomes meaningless noise and the Master's head dips until it's pressed against the Doctor's sternum and he sleeps.

The TARDIS hums, rocks, but the Doctor stays awake. Keeps watch. (he can't bring himself to have hope)

 

 

* * *

 

 

**DEPRESSION**

 

The water is hot, and there are bubbles.

(the master is staring at him absently, tracing words into the foam. the doctor presses a kiss to his forehead and goes back to his book)

 

 

The water is warm, and there are bubbles.

(the master's eyes are closed, his hands are still. the doctor lays a hand against his cheek and stays there for a while)

 

 

The water is lukewarm, and there are less bubbles than there were before.

(the master is staring at the ceiling, hands resting on his knees beneath the water. the doctor strokes tears away with his thumb)

 

 

The water is room-temperature, and there are still some bubbles.

(the master is watching the water move under his hands. the doctor kisses along his jawline and turns back to his book)

 

 

The water is cool, and the bubbles are gone.

(the master stares at him, looking past him, his hands tapping a beat against the water. the doctor kisses his lips lightly and rests their foreheads together)

 

 

The water is cold, and there are bubbles again.

(the master watches the foam with a childlike fascination, his hands carving meaningless patterns. the doctor puts the lid of the bottle back on and tries to smile)

 

 

* * *

 

**DENIAL**

 

They're in one of the bedrooms, lying on the bed with their legs tangled together and their foreheads touching. The Master closes his eyes. "Listen."

"Listen?"

"Listen to the wind in the leaves. Silver makes such a lovely sound." (he sounds young, centuries younger than he is)

The Doctor hooks his teeth over his lip and bites until he tastes blood. "Master..."

"We should stay. Watch the suns set."

A heaving breath, then a whisper, playing along: "We'll get in trouble."

"Doctor, let's. Please, let's. We'll sit in the grass and watch the suns set. Please Doctor, listen."

"I'm listening." (there's no sound other than their breathing and the rustle of the sheets)

"We should run away." (their discussions always came back around to this, to leaving)

"But it's so beautiful here."

"Burnt orange is dull after decades beneath it, don't you think?"

"Master..." (it's far worse to have left behind the sky: to not appreciate it until it's centuries in the past)

"Doctor, let's run away."

"Yes," (he says, because he will always say yes)

 

 

* * *

 

 

**ANGER**

 

"Let's." The Master says, leaning against the console, and it's a full sentence, it's paragraphs, just one word and it's their whole story. He presses a button (nothing happens; the controls are on isomorphic, because the doctor loves him but will never trust him) and repeats himself. "Let's."

"Your idea of "let's" is different than mine." The Doctor replies, not looking up from his book. "Your idea of "let's" is destruction. Mine is salvation."

"As if you could ever bring salvation!" The Master spits, hammering on the console.

"I can try." He still doesn't look up.

"Let's. Doctor, don't let..." a flicker of pain, before he wrenches himself back into control. "...don't let _this_ change anything. Let's. Let's!"

"I don't want to fight you, Master. I never have. It's you that keeps forcing my hand." He keeps his eyes on the book, and sees the Master moving in his periphery, stalking closer.

"Liar. Liar liar liar you're always lying to me." He doesn't really believe it, but ironically enough, he's right. (rule one: the doctor lies)

"No," he says, because it's funny, he's lying about lying.

"I hate you." It comes out in a gasp, raw and wicked and horrible.

 _Who's lying now?_ (he wants to say and doesn't say)

"I hate you I hate you I hate you!" The words blur, somewhere between screaming and helpless sobs, and the Master beats his fists on the console, doubles over and wails as sparks fly and metal cuts into his hands. " _ **I hate you!**_ "

"No," the Doctor says, and this time it's the truth. He keeps looking at the book, even though his vision is far too blurry to make out any words. "You really don't."

Wordless screaming. The Doctor keeps his gaze down.

Silence. He stands, quietly, tucks the back flap of the dust jacket into the book to mark his place, and sets it aside.

Rasping sobs. He wraps his arms around the Master and pulls him to the ground, tucking him against his chest, rocking him.

Time passes. Silence again.

 

"I hate myself." a confession, whispered against his shoulder.

 _I know._ (he doesn't say)

"Well," (he does say) "I love you."

And that's enough.

 

 

* * *

 

**ACCEPTANCE**

 

"I brought you a gift," the Doctor says, tossing his sopping coat over the railing and running his free hand through his hair. "And some sushi, but I doubt you're hungry."

The Master makes a noncommittal noise and holds out his hand. He's sitting on top of the console, fiddling with things. The TARDIS hums under his touch (she remembers him, and loves him just as the doctor does) but she knows him, knows what he can do, and doesn't relent.

The Doctor pulls him bodily off the console and kneels beside him. "I went through hell and back to get this for you, be grateful," he says, and presses a little piece of metal into his hand.

"A brooch," the Master says blankly, and they both laugh, because of course he notices the structure before the material. "A  _dark star alloy_ brooch." He looks up. "Why?"

The Doctor kisses him, and takes the brooch from his hands, pinning it at his throat and pressing his lips to it. "Why not?"

Neither of them have an answer for that.

 

"I am hungry," the Master decides, and the Doctor stands, moving to the controls. "What are you doing?"

"You're hungry, and you've been inside for a while. We're going for a picnic. Anywhere, anywhen. Requests?" The Doctor replies, 

"Home." The Master says stubbornly, then sighs. "Ukraine, 278 BCE."

The Doctor doesn't ask why. There's no real reason, anyway.

 

They walk up the hill in silence, almost tangled in the rough, damp grass, then go back down and roll a few rocks up, so they can sit and watch the sunrise. The Master runs his thumb over the brooch thoughtfully.

"I lied," the Doctor confesses, setting the tray of sushi on one of the boulders. The Master looks at him. "I brought you two gifts."

He presses a pinecone into the Master's hands. "I thought you might plant it. For her. For..." he says her name.

The Master cries.

 

They pull up the grass and dig up handfuls of cold earth, and bury the pinecone. They stand and watch the sun rise.

 

 

They go back to the TARDIS, back to where the Master first found him. They holds on for a while before they part ways.

 

"Thank you."

A smile. "You would do the same for me."

 

 

(he will)

 

 


End file.
